


Fairytale in Gibraltar

by RunePhoenix6769



Series: SHATTERED [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 14:20:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17024256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunePhoenix6769/pseuds/RunePhoenix6769
Summary: Inspired by @erollazureus.tumblr  Elf Lena Oxton gif/art.Part of the ongoing SHATTERED.SET DURING 'SHATTERED'.Head on over to formerlyrunephoenix6769.tumblr.com   to see full post with visualsWatchpoint Gibraltar has been left in the hands of Tracer over the holidays.The skeleton crew made up of volunteers and those that have no where to go.xxxplease feel free to like and comment.. Feedback is always appreciatedHappy Holidays, folks,Lena takes a moment to reflect on the last year before ultimately spreading some christmas cheer.





	Fairytale in Gibraltar

Not a fairy tale and not in Gibraltar.

Europe was gripped in the unforgiving clutches of one of the worst winters on record. It was Christmas Eve and at Watchpoint Gibraltar, Lena Oxton pensively watched as a soft flurry of snow began to blanket the military base in its festive embrace despite the bitter cold. Fareeha and Anglea with Ana in tow had flown to Canada to spend a few days with family. Morrison had gone where ever it is super soldiers go, cryptically parting he would return within the week. And so being the most Senior Member of staff, it had fallen to Lena to oversee the remaining personnel. 

The base was quieter than usual, running on skeleton staff made up of those who had volunteered for their own reasons or had nowhere else to go. In a bid to lift the spirits of those who had been rostered, the pilot had arranged a small impromptu Christmas party for the skeleton staff. 

It hadn’t gone quite to plan. 

Nobody having either the skill, time or patience to make party food the decision had been made to order in, only for McCree to have cocked up momentously the amount needed. From noon onwards trucks had arrived in a constant stream and the remaining members of Overwatch had found themselves knee deep in Turkey, Stuffing and all the trappings of the usual Christmas dinner fare. There hadn’t been enough fridge space to store it and cancellation of the dishes that kept coming in some sort of nightmarish Dickensian novel in reverse, they had been firmly told was not an option. 

It would almost be comical if not for being placed on the company card and Lena could only imagine the bollacking she was going to receive from on high when Morrison finally checked the already lean budget. 

Well at least the Shambali monk and his protgee had put the extra to good use, filling up trucks and driving into the nearby city in order to find a homeless shelter and feed those that might not be as well off or lucky. 

Good will to all men and all that jazz. 

Lena had gotten dressed in Christmas Elf regalia ready to add a little Christmas cheer only to find McCree already started drinking and singing dirty carols in the cafeteria, meaning she had to remain on base to keep an eye on things. 

It had started off great, a little bit of food, a little bit of good cheer. McCree had pulled out DVa’s karoke machine and everybody had joined in. Winston had surprised them all with a fantastic rendition of an oldie from some guy called Dean Martin, in a baritone no one knew the gorilla had, resulting in Jesse bawling crying.  
And it had all gone downhill from there. 

The garish paper Christmas hat on top of his Stetson, slightly askew, looked tragically ridiculous as the alcohol turned his tears of beauty into tears of lamentation that no amount of comfort could quell. 

Awkward at the sudden emotional outburst Winston had retreated, knuckling off at high speed, back to his laboratory in the bowels of the building, whilst Lena had made herself a hot port and settled down beside the distraught American ready to ride out the coming storm. He had parted how he missed his friends, Ashe, B.O.B and Echo and had continued to drink into the depths of his melancholy until he passed out on a nearby sofa. 

As everyone knows, misery loves company and Lena had found Jesse’s dark mood was contagious. 

Sat at a table from where she could keep an eye on him and take in the view outside, her gloved finger tips played along the side of her half full paper cup, gently pressing until it threatened to tip over only to let it fall back down and repeat it again. 

Once over, in this very same building, it had been her, Winston and Emily happily enjoying the festivities like a small family.

But so much had happened and changed, good and bad, and it was now sitting alone that Lena found the one thing she regretted the most coming to mind.

\----x----x----x---x---

 

When Overwatch collapsed in a whirl wind of bad press and the corruption had come to light the fall out had been astronomical and no one had gotten away unscathed. Due to the ‘death’ of Commander Morrison and Captain Amari, the position of most Senior member had fallen to Angela Ziegler who had been questioned mercilessly on national television for all to see in a tribunal at the Hague about the comings and goings of Overwatch and it’s shadowy counterpart, Blackwatch. 

Lena had dodged the bullet, so to speak, due to her relatively ‘low rank’, Angela’s stalwart protection and bull headed demands that Lena remain as far away from the press/debacle as possible. However, when you are the face of an international organisation that has spectacularly fallen from grace, it wasn’t the easiest of things to do. 

No matter where she went, she was instantly recognised and she often had to bear the brunt of the public’s misplaced ire. Due to her association with the Peace keeping organisation and the barely concealed knowledge of her condition, Lena had struggled to find work. 

In fact, if she was being honest with herself, she had struggled in general. 

Having joined up to the RAF at 16 all she had ever known was military life and the order that it provided. Not to mention the precariousness of her chronal disassociation, she found it was stability she craved, something set in stone, routine, anything tangible that would ground her to the present.

And so she had returned to the RAF.

Surely her skills as one of the best pilots they had ever produced would stand in her favour? 

Instead she had found slight pity and a firm no from the institution her family of generations had dedicated their lives to.

They didn’t want her back, couldn’t take her back.

Surely she understood that her ‘condition’ made it nigh impossible to pilot the aircraft at the RAF’s disposal. Whilst yes, her skills as a pilot were nothing to sniff at and she would make a valuable instructor for the next generation, the King’s Royal Defence forces recruitment was at an all-time low and they couldn’t run the risk of any association with the PR disaster that was Lena Oxton and her former employers. 

Though they appreciated her service, for the sake of King and Country, their hands were tied. 

It was the first in a number of setbacks that came in quick succession. 

Her heroics forgotten, replaced with revulsion and in some cases outright hostility, door after door slammed shut in her face and opportunities that had once been flooding in became suddenly scarce. 

After contacting lawyer, the pilot had found that the merchandising contracts had fallen into escrow due to the financial commitments of the organisation and that no member of the team had made any money from their likeness being used. Most of the original companies such as Bandai had dropped their licensing when Overwatch fell. Now companies who did make money from such things had no obligation to pay them.

At first she lived off her savings and the compensation from the Slipstream accident but she struggled to acclimatise to civilian life. She found that no aviation company in the world was willing to employ a pilot who could just suddenly phase out of existence if her chronal accelerator malfunctioned, no matter how much she tried to reassure them. 

“Sorry, Miss Oxton, it is a risk we just aren’t willing to take. Surely you understand?”

‘Surely you understand.’ became a statement that dogged her just as much as her catchphrase which random strangers took to screaming at her in the streets of her beloved London, with mirthful malice. Due to her celebrity status security firms couldn’t take her on and the police force made it known that her help was ‘unwelcome’. They had everything under control and they didn’t need some army brat telling them how to do their jobs, though many of them had conveniently forgotten that they were able to go home to their families due to Overwatch’s interference. 

Over the years, she had sporadically kept in touch with Angela who was off working in a refugee field hospital somewhere in the Middle East, but more so Winston who the pilot visited often due to her chronal accelerator needing to be serviced every six months. During these visits she had gleaned that the scientist wasnt faring too well either. Though brilliant many companies were willing to take on a Silver Back Gorilla as an employee. He refused Moira’s invitation to join the Oasis team due to her demanding full disclosure of his work and her suspected nefarious dealings, choosing instead to retreat from the public eye completely, preferring to deliver lecturers online and making small inventions for everyday life. 

All the while the gaping hole left by Overwatch was slowly filled with global escalating violence and terrorist organisations. Often after such an attack, Lena’s apartment on King’s Row became a target for harassment or the press to such a point her neighbours complained and her landlady had to reluctantly serve her with an eviction notice due to breach of the peace and so had begun a constant migration from dwelling to dwelling, the standard of accommodation slowly getting progressively worse to the point that Lena made the decision to put her cherished belongings in a storage unit as it was pointless packing and unpacking. It doubled up as a secondary place to crash when in between accommodations.

She had made it into a nice cosy space, nestled in between her state of the art motorbike, a vanity purchase when she had got her first compensation payment, and her mint collection of OW merchandise. 

Running low on savings and being unwilling to deplete her compensation reserves she had taken any job she could to make ends meet. 

The children’s party circuit hadn’t been a bad gig, if you didn’t count how it always ended in some parent jeering about how the mighty had fallen or some drunken wanker making a pass. She had often found a few weeks work slinging pints in one of the many pubs in the winding streets of London, the landlords happy with the extra influx of cash once word got round and punters came in to ogle the famous Tracer like she was some specimen in a museum. All would be well until some punter and his mates would decide that Lena and Overwatch was the cause of the world’s problems or someone started throwing round accusations to such a degree that the publican would think the ex- agent more trouble than she was worth, being politely let go, or the young woman would leave of her own accord. 

The only thing she kept on her person from the old days was her mobile scroll which she checked numerous times a day like an addict needing a fix. Once over it had pinged constantly, but as the other agents had moved on seeking the light far from Overwatch’s tainted reach, now it remained mockingly silent. A constant reminder that the world did not need them or have use for them even as it burned. 

Often leaving Tracer to wonder if she was the only one that still believed in what they had once stood for? 

That she was the only one itching to get back into the fray.

Somebody had to do something!

She had parted as much to Winston at their Christmas get together, whilst Emily had remained cautiously silent. The Ex- Agents had regaled each other with their old exploits and teammates shenanigans. For the first time in years, Lena had seemed genuinely happy. Her chipper demeanor returning properly. 

But on their return to London, Lena was no longer able to hide the cracks that had begun to emerge. 

To hell with the PETRAS Act. 

It was a law passed down to Overwatch, not her personally, right?

She began taking to the streets in the dead of night much to Emily’s disapproval. 

And then the call had come. 

Lena had snatched up the battered piece of technology at the first ring, 

“Winston, is that you luv? It’s been too far too long!”

Ending the call, Lena had babbled excitedly, much to Emily’s dismay,

Winston was reactivating Overwatch!

Her girlfriend couldn’t understand why she would be so eager to return after everything the organisation had put her through. Lena had immediately began stuffing clothes into her RAF duffle bag,

“Look at the state of the world! Somebody has to do something!”

Emily had replied,

“But why you? Don’t you think you have given them enough without adding turning you into an enemy of the state? …. Let someone else do it!”  
Lena had retrieved her trusty pulse pistols giving them the once over, before placing them in holsters,

“Isn’t that part of why you liked me in the first place, because I always do what’s right?”

Emily had been unable to let go,

“Yes, but this is different. Overwatch ruined your life! They left you high and dry! Now they are back, ….. If you stayed out of it maybe the public would see that you aren’t part of it anymore and you would be able to get some normalcy back in your life?”

Lena had exclaimed,

“You don’t understand.. The world needs us!”

Emily’s pale skin had mottled red, hiding her freckles and beginning to match her fiery hair, as she angrily demanded,

“Are you sure you’re doing this for the world and not yourself? The world doesn’t need this. YOU don’t need this…. You just wanna be back out living the glory days!”

And Emily had been partially right and Lena had not wanted to hear the ugly naked truth, choosing instead to spit, 

“See, knew you wouldn’t understand. You don’t know what it means to be a hero.”

Hurt and furious, Emily had quietly replied, 

“I don’t understand what it is to be a hero? Being a hero means getting beaten on the street or being unable to go for groceries for fear of getting jumped? Being a hero means not being able to find an apartment cause landlords don’t want any trouble?” Emily’s voice had got increasingly louder, “-Being a hero is you crawling through my window as I try to patch you up? Being a hero means becoming a criminal??? You’ve got some twisted sense of logic. You live in a storage locker for Mondatta’s sake!” 

In a fit of temper and frustration Lena had shouted, 

“If you don’t like it then you know where the door is!”

The shout had echoed off the concrete walls and the storage facilities empty hallways. Stunned, Emily had closed her eyes. Giving a brief shake of her head, she had softly added, 

“I am just trying to look out for you.”

And Lena had sniped back, 

“I don’t need you to look after me. What I need to do is my job!”

“Even if it kills you?”

Silently, Lena’s knuckles had turned white as she gripped her motorcycle helmet. 

Emily picked up her jacket, 

“Oh I forgot,-” Shrugging into it, she added, “Heroes never die.”

Zipping up her jacket, she left. 

It had been like a slap to the face. In the awning silence and aftermath, Lena had screamed throwing her helmet across the small space. 

The very next morning, Lena had mailed the remainder of her things to a Parcel hostel in Gibraltar, packed up her bike and had ridden to the ferry port, catching the first one to Spain without a backwards glance.

Emily had found a new girlfriend if her social media was anything to go by and Lena had thrown herself into her duties at Overwatch. 

There had been stilted communication inquiring as to each other’s health, after years together it wasn’t as if they had stopped caring. 

But is wasn’t the same. 

It hadn’t been how Lena wanted it to end.

\--x---x---x

McCree’s wrist watched beeped, playing a ridiculous Christmas melody only the cowboy’s strange humour would find funny, causing him to roll over with a loud snore.  
The church bells from the city began to chime, muffled and eerie due to the heavy snowfall.

Not a creature stirred not even a mouse, 

Well, if you didn’t count McCree. 

She was pretty certain McCree didn’t count as a creature. 

Giving a little shake of her head, the bell on the end of her hat giving a pathetic tingle. 

“Merry Christmas, Oxton.” 

Giving her cup a swirl, she swamped the contents pulling a face at the cold liquid. 

Beside her, her palm pad pinged, letting her know that the remaining security teams were about to commence their checks of the base. With the tip of her finger she began to scroll through all the data, pausing at a particular live feed. 

She wasn’t the only one alone for Christmas. 

What could it hurt, to spread some Christmas cheer? 

Coming to a decision, she hurriedly pocketed her palm pad and made her way over to the fridge, piling a plate high with a little bit of everything. Unceremoniously, she shoved it in the microwave, leaving it to heat as she began tearing open the cupboards. Finding two clean cups she popped them in a bag along with a bottle of unopened Famous Grouse McCree had left on the counter. 

Setting a dinner tray with a knife and fork and piece of tinsel, she retrieved the heated plate, before looping her wrist through the handles of the bag and setting off to her destination with a spring in her step and her Christmas hat tinkling away. 

\---- x --- x – x--- 

 

Stepping into the long corridor flanked either side with empty cells, Lena slowly approached the only one occupied. Coming into view under the light that hummed quietly overhead, she peered through the bullet proof glass into its depths to see the weak bunk lights cast its occupant in shadows, whose head was bent concentrating on the pages of a book. 

Lena gave a polite cough. 

The occupants head remained bent, one slender finger curling at the edge of the page the only indication that they had heard Lena’s arrival. 

It’s not like they could miss it, Lena thought, between the racket of the jingling bell and the clinking of the cups. 

Patience not being one of her virtues, the pilot fidgeted slightly. 

Not looking up from the book, the occupant said, 

“Why am I not surprised that even on the most sacred of days, I cannot find respite from your annoying presence?” Closing the book on their finger so as not to lose their place, they asked, “-What do you want?”

Lena took a small step forward, 

“I came to wish you Merry Christmas.”

Looking up from the book, two bright yellow eyes landed on the pilot. Raking up and down her form, the eyes narrowed and the prisoner’s purple lips drew back into sneer. Bracing herself for a cutting remark, Lena was surprised when the French woman broke out in laughter. 

“I never thought that you could look anymore foolish than you normally do, but I stand pleasantly corrected!”

Lena pulled a face,

“Its called getting into the spirit of things!”

Amelie Lacroix continued to laugh. 

“Is that what you’re calling it?”

“Alright, alright, leave it out. ” Lena approached the cell delivery shoot, “You know the rules right?”

Amelie threw up her hands and remained on the bunk.

The ex-assassin had fled Talon and had sought out Overwatch’s help. In exchange for information, they would oversee Widowmaker’s medical needs and maybe look into rehabilitation at a very far off juncture. But for now she remained under lock and key. Any attempt at escape would forfeit the aforementioned agreement and she would be left to fend for herself.  
Lena awkwardly maneuvered the tray on to the shoot and used her card to activate the system. With a whoosh, it slid into the cell. 

The pilot ducked into a nearby cell grabbing the blankets off the bunks. She heard a curse in French. 

“Careful,” She called out, “It’s hot.”

Coming back, she dumped the blankets on the floor. She watched as the French woman poked the plate of food with the plastic fork regarding it with suspicion. 

“There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s from some of the best restaurants in town.”

Amelie’s fine eyebrows knit together,

“I would hardly refer to this as haute cuisine!” 

“Well some folks tonight have a damn sight less.”

The French woman silently regarded Lena before proceeding to nibble on a piece of turkey. 

Unscrewing the cap on the whisky, Lena poured out generous amounts into the two cups, placing one in the tray. Hovering over the activation button, she asked, 

“This won’t kill you, will it? It won’t mess up,-” She gestured up and down the woman, “- Whatever is going on with you?”

Amelie threw her a sarcastic smile, as she leaned against the glass, 

“I find your concern at my potential death rather sweet, but no. It won’t kill me. You will have to try much harder than that.”

“Trust me, I did!”

Inside her cell, Amelie edged closer. Her yellow eyes became hooded and the hint of a smug smirk played at the corners of her lips as she purred,

“Did you really, though?”

For a moment the pilot paused. In a bid to hide the heat that threatened to spread across her cheeks, Lena activated the tray, 

“Shut up and eat your dinner.”

Making a small nest in the middle of the blankets on the floor with her foot, Lena plopped down crossed legged and wriggled so she could lean her back against the glass. From within her cell, Amelie mirrored her actions. Taking out her palm pad, the pilot selected a gentle Christmas playlist. The two women lapsed into an oddly comfortable silence as Amelie daintily ate her meal and Lena sipped at her drink trying not to pull a face at the slight sting. 

Edith Paif’s voice began to play softly through the small speakers. Amelie closed her eyes with a small hum. The delighted sound caused Lena to shift on to her side so she could take in the view. 

“She’s one of my favourites,” Amelie parted. 

“I know.” Lena softly replied. 

Taking a small sip of her own drink, Amelie regarded the pilot with a look she could not fathom

Averting her gaze, the French woman began twiddling her fork between long tapered fingers, 

“Why are you here?”

“To wish you Merry Christmas, of course.”

Amelie lifted her head. The steely glint was gone from her yellow eyes, replaced with something Lena couldn’t name. The French woman’s voice asked softly, 

“Honestly?”

Lena began to pick at on embroided snowflake on her leggings. The silver material twinkling in the overhead light. 

Why had she come here? Had it been to find some respite from the crippling loneliness she sometimes felt after the bullets stopped whizzing overhead? Had it been in a bid to seek comfort from someone who might understand what it was like to be so harshly ripped from a previous life, only to be left on the outside looking in? 

Speaking in barely a murmur, she replied, 

“I don’t know.”

Through one of the small one inch holes set at intervals in the glass, Lena felt hot breath on her ear causing the young woman to slightly startle, 

“Merci.”

Quick to recover, Lena kept her features neutral as she deadpanned, 

“Mercy isn’t here.”

Lena remained composed as she watched Amelie’s eyes narrow and her mouth tighten. Her lips drew back in a sneer revealing white teeth as she was about to no doubt deliver a scathing retort. Lena broke into a wide cheeky grin. 

Amelie let out a string of playful expletives in French whilst Lena laughed. 

“Do you think I’m that stupid I don’t know what merci means?”

The French woman grinned, 

“Yes!”

Lena swatted at the glass,

“Oi!”

“I think you will find that it is pronounced Oui!”

“Ahhhh, word play!” Lena giggled, “…. Finally, a sense of humour!”

Suddenly becoming serious, Amelie placed her fingertips on the edge of the hole,

“I mean it, Lena .. Thankyou. ”

Searching the other woman’s face for any hint of deception, the pilot hesitated. 

Finding none, she cautiously reached out, pausing at the lip on the indent. Quickly, she used her teeth to pull of her leather glove leaving it fall to the floor. 

“I think that’s the first time you have ever used my name.”

Slowly she reached out, never taking her gaze from the yellow eyes that watched her in curiosity through the barrier. Her finger tips grazed feather light against Amelie’s own and she was pleasantly surprised by the unexpected warmth she had discovered.

“Merry Christmas, Amelie.”

The ex- ballerina pressed her fingertips against Lena’s, 

“joyeux Noel, petite nuisance.”

Lena rolled her eyes, 

“I knew it was too good to last.”

Taking sip of her drink with what Lena could only describe as a down right salacious wink, Amelie replied, 

“Naturally.”

With a grin, Lena mirrored the action, 

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

**Author's Note:**

> If you are enjoying this fic, feel free to show your support and buy me a kofi at the address below.
> 
> http://ko-fi.com/formerlyrunephoenix6769
> 
> Keep my kitten Nym in caffeine! :)


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